


Birthday Cake

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Animal Transformation, Birthday, Childhood, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-26
Updated: 2005-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Ron's birthday is not as forgotten as he fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Eo).



They'd forgotten his birthday.

Ron had held out hope throughout the morning with no one but Percy's rat to keep him company while his mother tended Ginny, who still had the harpy pox; all afternoon when the twins had to be taken to St. Mungo's to get the purple spots off; even past dinner, when his dad heated up that nasty leftover soup because Mum and Fred and George were still gone and Ginny couldn't eat anything else.

He'd turned eight, and nobody had noticed.

Eight was too old to cry. Even seven and three-quarters was too old, and so that night he bit his lip every time his nose gave a sniffle, and he listened from under his covers as Mum came home with the twins and went to bed without so much as a goodnight kiss for him, and he miserably counted to one-hundred when his eyes threatened to grow damp.

That was why he was the only one awake to hear the noise downstairs at midnight.

Just a quiet scuffle, but enough to send him scrambling upright with a frown. The sound was too soft to be the ghoul, and too loud to be Fred and George out of bed, and he felt more sleepy annoyance than fear as he slipped into his slippers, supposing he'd get blamed for the mess if a gnome had poked its way up from the cellar again.

He crept down the stairs, more puzzled when he saw the kitchen light on. Mum usually nagged after everyone to turn it off before turning in. He poked his head around the corner—and then froze.

A grin split his face.

And to the end of his days, he would believe that it had to have been his dad, even if the man never again so much as made toast. Who else could have done it? The little cupcake that sat in the middle of the kitchen table wasn't anything like the cakes his mother made, but he could smell it, sweet and still hot from the pan, with R-O-N frosted right on top in strawberry jam.

He took a swipe off the 'R' and tasted it, and he was just about to clamber up into his seat when he heard the faintest sound—turning to see Scabbers poking his head out of the open flour bin.

Ron rolled his eyes, whispering, "Come here, you stupid thing." He plucked the rat up, dusting him off and setting him carefully in his lap as he tucked in, sharing a generous bevy of crumbs with his guest. He'd never had a better birthday cake.


End file.
